


Cat People

by Fiction_Over_Fact



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Matchmaking, Pre-Slash, Uchiha Izuna Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 22:11:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiction_Over_Fact/pseuds/Fiction_Over_Fact
Summary: Perhaps oddly, it is not a noble action, a display of intelligence or a showing of undeniable dedication that draws Madara’s attention.That makes him take a step back and look at two decades of bias and rage, the dark kernel of hatred he held forthe man who would kill my brotherand tilt his head. Consider. Wonder.No, it's the day Hashirama forces him to attend "family dinner" and he sees Tobirama with a cat.





	Cat People

**Author's Note:**

> I have several deep, meaningful Madatobi WIPs, that will have actual plot and stuff.  
> And I wrote this instead.
> 
> The title was originally going to be Felis Populus (it felt too on the nose in English) but then translations disagreed if that was right and I didn't wanna be the person using bad grammar in a foreign language for fic titles. So...at least I just sound stupid in a language I speak now?  
> 

Technically, Madara and Hashirama have their own offices.

One of the privileges of being Hokage was that Hashirama’s was nicer—more space, bigger desk, better view.

None of which had stopped him from dragging piles of paperwork into Madara’s office and setting up on the low couch by the wall several months after the village needed him to make decisions more than they needed him to make buildings.

There was, as far as Madara could tell, no motivation for the change.

One day Hashirama had been as normal as he ever got, pouting as Madara and Tobirama spat insults at each other over lunch.

The next he had decided to do his best impression of a barnacle.

Madara had tolerated that with minimal fuss (“You made him cry! Twelve times!” “It’s _Hashirama!_ That’s normal!”) for three days—which he thought was quite a good effort on his part, as it was longer than he’d put up with most everything but the war and Izuna.

By the fourth day Hashirama had devolved to simply laying on the ground like a four year old drawing a picture, papers piled around him in stacks of questionable physical integrity.

He hummed while working. It was terrible.

It got worse when Hikaku tripped over the Hokage while bringing Madara another stack of paperwork, a sympathetic expression and a cup of tea (Hikaku was the _very best_ of the Uchiha and Madara would hear nothing against him).

Madara ended up with three hours of ruined work, minor burns on his face, a frantically apologetic cousin and a pouting Senju.

He was Done.

He screamed. He shouted. He carried on.

Hashirama remained rooted to the floor, eyes beginning to water.

Madara would not cave.

He swore that he would make Hashirama go to his own office to do his paperwork, far enough away from Madara that he wouldn’t have to listen to his incessant humming and he wouldn’t trip Madara’s favorite cousin.

Hashirama pouted. He whined. He clung to Madara’s sleeves.

For five very emotional days, Madara held strong. Resolute.

His clansmen and civilians watched him walk to the Tower in the morning and back to the compound in the evening with wide eyes, the village’s Hokage clinging to his side.

The other members of the council laughed at him.

Izuna and Toka, proving once more that they were perfect for each other (and _assholes_ ) mocked him relentlessly over his new "accessory."

On the fifth day, to the later surprise of every man, woman and child in the village (particularly Madara himself), Hashirama _gave in_.

Madara glared at his paperwork, grinding his teeth as Hashirama started humming the same ten seconds of a song for the twentieth time that morning.

And then, like the first ray of sunlight breaking through a storm cloud…

 _He stopped_.

“Madara.” He said instead, voice suspiciously serious. Madara watched him, wide-eyed.

Hashirama looked scarier there on the floor, surrounded by crumpled paper balls, than he ever had on the battlefield.

During the war Hashirama would have merely killed him.

Slash, dice, pop, crack, boom—whatever. It would have been _done_.

Here and now, Hashirama was able to torture him for days and days with no end in sight while his kinsmen _laughed_ at his suffering.

“Yes?” He asked, carefully.

To an outsider, the wary way he was watching Hashirama might seem undue, or overdramatic.

To an outsider, Madara would say _fuck off_.

Hashirama stared back at him for a long moment. Madara could see him considering _something_ , rolling a thought around behind his eyes, looking at it from different angles.

Hashirama might be a fool and a nuisance with no sense of when he was unwelcome, but he was not an idiot.

Right now, of course, he felt a lot more like one of Tobirama’s early attempts at explosive tags than the village leader. Hissing and smoking with the possibility (but not the guarantee) of blowing up in their faces.

Madara would have much preferred an actual explosive, but life wasn’t about getting what you wanted.

“I will go to my office.” Hashirama said, too solemnly for a grown man sitting on the floor with no shoes on.

Madara held his breath, not quite allowing himself to hope yet.

“However, you will come to dinner at my house once a week, starting tomorrow.”

He choked. “ _What?_ ”

Hashirama ignored his question.

“Izuna will be invited in the future. You need to socialize more often.”

“With your _sea witch_  wife and your _rat_ of a brother?” He asked, once he managed to breathe again.

Mito he didn’t actually mind too much. She was very elegant, poised and--presumably--amused by idiocy, as evidenced by her successful marriage. Madara, who had numerous times been mocked for being a temperamental haystack and couldn't really argue with that assessment, didn’t know what to do around her.

Tobirama was a different story. The man obviously felt he was smarter than Madara and, worse than that, was the fact that it was _true_. Madara didn’t mind not being the smartest person in the room but he didn’t need it to be shoved in his face so consistently.

It was _rude_.

Hashirama frowned at him like he could read his thoughts, his gaze that of a disappointed father. It did _not_ work on Madara, because Hashirama was only a few months older than him.

No.

Then, just as Madara was about to cave in himself, Hashirama’s face brightened.

“Do you want me to stay then?” He asked, smiling like he was sculpted out of puppies.

Madara agreed to dinner so fast he bit his tongue.

He had never been much of a dog person.

 

Madara eyed the house, ignoring the several Senju standing around outside their own homes and in the street, watching him.

It was reasonably big and well-constructed, situated toward the center of the Senju district. Several flowering bushes bordered its large porch.

One of the guards by the front door, stepped forward slightly.

“Uchiha-sama?” She asked. Her voice was vaguely disturbed, like she had asked before, received no answer and was now afraid what would happen when he finally moved.

Which was…fair.

He _had_ been standing outside their clan head’s house for thirty minutes now.

That was a weird and strange thing to do, whether one was invited or not.

He took a step forward, and then another, until he finally made it up onto the porch.

The guards both edged away from him slightly.

Madara raised his hand up to rap at it and—

 _White_.

“Finally!” Senju Tobirama grumbled at him, already glaring. The sound of his voice alone made Madara’s theoretical hackles raise.

“Mito made me get up to let you in _half an hour ago_. I have things to do that aren’t waiting on your brain to work.” He continued, managing to somehow sound even more unimpressed as he spoke.

Normally, Madara would have reacted to that. Maybe spat back an insult, maybe swung a fist. Maybe pulled out his sword.

But…

There was a very fluffy white cat laying around Tobirama’s shoulders and another curled up against his chest.

One of Madara's arms raised a bit, instinctively reaching toward the closest cat.

Tobirama glanced down, giving the limb a disparaging look and whirling around. He walked off, deeper into the house, pushing past Hashirama.

Hashirama—hair pulled up and wearing an apron—grinned at him, giving his dumbstruck expression and frozen hand a sly look.

“I told you that you should have come over to eat before.”

“Shut up!” He snapped, ignoring the heat he could feel pooling in his cheeks because he refused to blush over Senju Tobirama.

Hashirama laughed smugly, wrapping his arm around Madara’s shoulders and dragging him, presumably, toward the dining area.

Madara flailed in protest but not as much as he normally would, preoccupied with an idea he had never considered before.

Senju Tobirama was very attractive.

This problem was only exacerbated by the man holding cute animals.

_Damn._

**Author's Note:**

> (If it's not obvious enough, Hashirama started bugging Madara after lunch with Tobi for match-making/manipulation purposes.)
> 
> This isn't my normal writing style (you can tell because it's not bogged down with useless details) but it's hopefully not too bad? Also, if it seems rushed? That's kind cause it is, I made myself finish this before I got to eat.  
> I don't really like it much but it's at least done and this way I can stop messing with it and I don't think I'll shame delete it instinctively this time so...yay?  
> If there are any particularly painful errors feel free to message me about it and I'll fix 'em!


End file.
